


Clint Barton One-Shots

by BigBandBombshell



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18036110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBandBombshell/pseuds/BigBandBombshell
Summary: Clint is an absolute gem. So why not dedicate an entire one-shot collection to him? All of these fics are either inspired by songs, inspired by bingos I participate in, or inspired by reader prompts. Please feel free to send me prompts in the comments or on my Tumblr account, which is listed at the end of each chapter!





	1. Meaning of a Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr and by the song "The Secret Wedding" from the Braveheart soundtrack.
> 
> The prompt was "Budapest".

Tourists swarmed the bridge. A nearly unbroken wave of humanity running across the current of the Danube. Moving from one side of the city to the other in an ever-constant flow. A few people lingered at the edges of the bridge to look down into the depths of the Danube, but few paused long enough to lose their place in the flow of traffic. Anyone who tried to stop would find themselves jostled and bumped until they started moving again. Which made the bubble of calm around Clint and Natasha so unusual.

 

“We're conspicuous,” Clint murmured into Natasha's ear.

 

“I'm watching. We're fine.” Natasha wasn't even facing the bridge but that hardly mattered. If Natasha said she had eyes on the bridge, she had eyes on the bridge. Clint simply nodded and braced his hands against the railing.

 

His body framed Natasha's, his arms boxing her in against his chest. She laced her fingers through his and leaned back into him. Her hair whipped into his face as the wind swirled around them and Clint smiled. He could have tucked her hair out of the way but that would mean letting go of her hands and losing the tight embrace. That simply wasn't an option. He closed his eyes instead and turned his face into the red tangle of curls.

 

“I'm surprised.” Natasha's words were nearly lost on the wind.

 

“By?”

 

“You. I don't think you've waxed sarcastic in at least twenty minutes.”

 

Clint chuckled and nuzzled closer into Natasha's curls. His lips found her throat and the pulse beating steadily under her skin.

 

“Nothin' to be sarcastic about.”

 

“That's a first.” Natasha's voice carried the warmth of her smile. Clint tightened the confines of his arm, curling her closer into his chest.

 

“Well that's a little unfair.” Clint grinned. His teeth grazed the corner of her jaw and Natasha hummed softly in response. “I'm serious about plenty of stuff.”

 

“Name three things you're serious about and I'll apologize.” Natasha finally turned her eyes from the water. Clint drew back enough to meet her eyes and nearly lost himself in her smile.

 

“I'm serious about my equipment.” Clint squeezed the fingers of his left hand against hers. Natasha nodded, conceding the point.

 

“I'm serious about helping people.”

 

Natasha arched a brow and Clint quickly cut her off before she could argue.

 

“I said serious _about_ helping people. Not serious _while_ helping people.” Both his brows rose and he tipped his chin down. It was hard to look _up_ at Natasha through his lashes – height being what it is – but he tried his best. Natasha lowered her brow after a moment, a pouting smile on her lips.

 

“Point taken.” Her smile bloomed when Clint grinned at her and squeezed the fingers of her right hand.

 

“But more than any of that – more than anything else – I'm serious about you.” Clint's grin faded as he touched his brow to hers.

 

Natasha went still, not even breathing as she leaned into the touch. Her silence spoke more than words could and Clint brushed the tip of his nose against hers. A wordless promise that pulled at his heart.

 

“It seems I...I owe you an apology, Mr. Barton.” Natasha slipped her fingers from between Clint's. She turned in the confines of his arms, the sun catching on a small band around the third finger of her left hand. Gold glittered against Clint's skin as he released the stone railing and wrapped his arms around Natasha.

 

“Seems so, Mrs. Barton.” He grinned down at her, he couldn't help it. The rings were SHIELD issue. But the promises, the love? Those were as real as their heartbeats. And, in that moment, Clint was sure they'd last longer than the ancient buildings of Budapest that rose on either side of the river beneath their feet.

 

* * *

 

 

“Just like Budapest all over again!” Natasha flicked a grin in Clint's direction.

 

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.” Clint's eyes were on his bow as he spoke. But when Natasha didn't move, didn't respond, he looked up.

 

Fear wove in and out of her gaze. And that's when Clint knew he was wrong. Budapest was the same, whether the memory was his or hers. All that mattered was that they remembered Budapest. Because there was a god raining hell down on their heads. Because aliens were swarming the streets of New York City. And if anything happened – if they didn't make it back to their bridge for the anniversary this year – then this would have to do. It was the wrong country, the wrong city, the wrong bridge. But the promises were still the same and the love still felt right.

 

They had gunmetal and twisted steel instead of gold and timeworn stone. And it was enough. It would always be enough. So long as they had each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	2. What Would Leonard Bernstein Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Soulmates".
> 
> In this world, soulmates hear whatever music their other half is listening to. It's just Clint's luck that his soulmate only likes classical.

Clint hummed to himself as he laid out his equipment. The sounds he made weren't quite a match for the song that looped through his head, but they were close enough for his taste.

 

“Classical?”

 

Clint's head shot up to find a SHIELD agent leaning against the door frame. Heather or Hannah or Heidi...damn, he was bad at names.

 

“Yeah! I'm surprised you could ID that.” He shot her a smile and went back to his equipment.

 

“It wasn't easy. If I didn't know the song, I'd have been totally lost.”

 

Clint's gaze snapped back up to the woman.

 

“You know the song?” He dragged his eyes over her one more time. “How?”

 

The agent gave him an odd look.

 

“I took ballet up until I joined SHIELD. Bernstein is a really common composer for ballet schools.” The agent frowns faintly. “Did you...did you not know it was Bernstein?”

 

“I don't know who Bernstein is. I just know the song. You..were you...” Clint swallows, suddenly nervous. This was supposed to be a normal mission, but if this agent was the one, it changed everything.

 

Something in his face must have given his thoughts away. The agent's eyes widened as she quickly shook her head.

 

“It's not me, sir. I've already met mine.” She smiled then, a small half-turn of her lips. “I'd know Bernstein anywhere – Leonard Bernstein, if it helps – but I don't listen to that kind of music any more. Your match, though... they might know ballet.” She gave him another small smile. “I hope it helps.”

 

She pushed off from the wall and moved to her locker. Clint mumbled a thanks before ducking his head, his focus back on the equipment laid out in front of him. The let down hurt, he wouldn't deny that. He'd been searching a long time. But at least now he had a name to go on, a hint to the wordless music that had been playing in his head for as long as he could remember. It wasn't always the same song, but this one was the most common. It had to be her favorite, and now he knew the composer.

 

The agent turned to leave and Clint cleared his throat.

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled again. “I, uh, I never knew the composer.” He glanced up and found the agent smiling at him. A real smile this time.

 

“Happy to help, sir. I hope you find them soon.” She gave him a quick nod, then slipped out of the room.

 

“You and me both,” Clint mumbled down at his bow.

 

&&&

 

“Barton, you got eyes on the target?” Fury's voice was tinny in Clint's earpiece.

 

“Yep. She's been at the same table for two hours. Drinking espresso and reading.”

 

“Who drinks espresso for two hours?” Fury's head-shake was practically audible. “She's gotta be enhanced. Any normal person would have shaken apart by now.”

 

“Should we adjust our objectives?” Barton smirked as Fury snorted.

 

“No, maintain current objectives Agent Barton.”

 

Clint's earpiece beeped as Fury closed the connection. The archer sighed and shifted against the roof he'd been laying on for the last two hours. He was supposed to tail his target until she was alone, then eliminate her. He didn't like assassination ops. They were messy and usually closer to morally grey than he was comfortable with. But this one made him especially uneasy. Something about the enemy operative wasn't sitting right with him and it wasn't her appreciation for straight espresso. Though Fury was right, she had to be enhanced if she could stomach that much straight coffee. And without so much as a croissant. Clint was impressed.

 

No, it was the lack of concern. She hadn't looked around once, hadn't looked up from her book. She had earbuds in, for fuck's sake. He could have been a complete civilian and still taken her out without much trouble if he didn't mind a public spectacle. Not even the actual civilians around her were that tuned out of their surroundings. Their eyes darted around the busy square, their hands rested on their wallets and purses. Sirens and bursts of laughter drew the eyes of onlookers, but the target was focused on her book. Her purse sat unattended in the chair across the table from her. She was the perfect mark. And that's when it finally clicked for Clint. She was perfect. Too perfect. She had to know they were there.

 

He swore under his breath and clicked open the line to Fury.

 

“She knows we're here.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“What operative sits in plain view, so checked out that a first-time purse snatcher could pull one over on her?”

 

“An overconfident one?”

 

“Doesn't match her profile. You know that.”

 

“Profiles can be wrong, can't they? It's not like we have a lot of information on this operative.”

 

“I'm telling you, something is wrong.”

 

“Maintain her tail until the scheduled pick up at midnight. If nothing changes between now and then, bring back any intel you can and we'll re-evaluate the target.” Fury sighed and mumbled something to himself that didn't carry over the coms line.

 

“Copy that.”

 

The line beeped again as Fury signed off, leaving Clint alone with the operative in his sights and Leonard Bernstein on a loop in the back of his head.

 

“Horrible music for an op,” he mumbled to himself. “Couldn't go for some classic rock. Oh no. Had to go for Leonard freaking Bernstein.” He sighed and shifted against the roof one more time as the woman in his sights pulled out one earbud and ordered another espresso.

 

&&&&

 

Night fell early this time of year, chasing people out of the common square and into the brightly lit cafes that lined it. Clint bit his lip to stifle a groan as his mark finally left her seat in front of the cafe, packing her book into a bag that was miraculously untouched in the five hours she'd sat at the cafe and read.

 

“Five hours, twenty espressos, five water, and no bathroom break. You are definitely enhanced.” Clint quickly packed his gear, one eye on the target as she paid her bill. “Not all of us are so lucky,” he grumbled.

 

The woman crossed the square and Clint leapt to his feet. He sprinted across the roof and leapt to the next one, following her as quickly as he could without outlining himself against the setting sun. He paused when she went into her building, his pace slowing. He knew which room was hers, he had time to get into position. Once there, he had six hours to decide what he wanted to do about this odd operative. Terminating her still didn't feel right.

 

He landed on the rood of her building without a sound. The only roof access was a rusted ladder off to one side that Clint didn't trust. He found a balcony on the next floor down instead and shimmed his way over the lip of the building, fingers digging into the brickwork until he could land silently on the darkened iron platform. SHIELD's intel said that this apartment was empty, at least if he had counted right on his first pass by the building that morning. A quick glance through the window confirmed it and Clint set about breaking into the one-room apartment.

 

The window didn't want to open at first, likely painted shut, but it finally gave way with the soft groan of swollen wood and broken paint. The opening was only a foot or so tall but it was enough for Clint to slide inside on his belly.

 

“The supe here sucks,” he muttered. “Probably took lessons from mine.”

 

Clint finished pulling himself through the window and pushed up to his feet. The bathroom was across the room, little more than a windowless cubicle with an accordion door. Clint made a beeline for it. He didn't realize the song in the back of his head had stopped until he had finished his business and washed his hands, silence greeting him when the water cut off.

 

“Must be bedtime for you,” he mumbled under his breath. “Excellent idea. One of us should be getting some rest.”

 

“Do you always talk to yourself? Seems like a bad habit for a SHIELD agent.”

 

Clint's knife was in hand, arm raised for the throw, before he had turned away from the sink. He froze when he found his target sitting on the same window he had just crawled through, a Beretta trained on Clint's head.

 

“Keeps things interesting.” Clint shrugged and lowered his hand. The redhead flicked her gun at the bathroom sink and Clint tossed his knife aside accordingly.

 

“I'm not gonna bother making you unpack. I don't have that kind of time.”

 

“No you don't.” Clint smirked as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “You really think I tracked you down alone?”

 

“Yes.” There wasn't a trace of uncertainty in her voice. Clint's smirk faded a little as he squashed the uncomfortable desire to hide his hands in his pockets like some guilty schoolboy.

 

“That'd be awfully stupid of me, don't'cha think?”

 

“Not as stupid as talking out loud in an empty apartment.”

 

“You knew I was here before that. Didn't you?”

 

The redhead shrugged and switched the gun from her right hand to her left.

 

“I did. And yes, the supe here does suck.” The smile she gave him was close enough to genuine that he felt the room tip with small wave of vertigo. Nobody should be able to smile like that while holding a gun on someone.

 

“I can talk to him for you.” Clint shrugged and shook his head. It fit the banter but he mostly did it to clear the vertigo from his head.

 

“It's a nice offer, but it's not my problem any more. I can't imagine I'll get my deposit back after they find your body.”

 

“Well I wouldn't want you to lose your deposit.” Clint shook his head again. “So if it's all the same, I'd rather not become a body.”

 

“Neither would I. But that's what you're here to do.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

The target's confidence wavered for the first time since.

 

“SHIELD doesn't do maybes.” She frowned and it was just as genuine as her smile.

 

“I do,” Clint said. “I've got until midnight to decide what I'm doing here.”

 

“You've got about thirty seconds.” The frown faded from the woman's face as she steadied her aim. Her right hand vanished into her pocket and music filled the room.

Not the room, Clint realized. Just his head. Bernstein again, louder than he'd ever heard it.

 

“Fuck...fuckity fuck fuck.”

 

“You're really bad being a spy, you know that?” The woman's frown was back, her brows drawn together in confusion.

 

“First of all: rude.” Clint held up one finger and the target's eyes widened in surprise. “Second of all: Leonard Bernstein. Right?”

 

Fear washed over her face and her hand fumbled in her pocket. The music cut off.

 

“I don't have it up loud enough for you to hear,” she said. Her frown deepened as she looked him over. “Enhanced?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.” Clint turned his head and tapped the hearing aid behind his ear. The target froze, her eyes darting up and down Clint's form. “But that's not how I knew.”

 

Clint began to hum the song, his eyes closing as he tried to hit the notes more closely than he normally did. She didn't lower the gun but she let him finish the song, well past her thirty second time limit.

 

“I've had that song in the back of my head for most of my life.” Clint opened his eyes. “I only learned the composer's name this morning.”

 

“That's...you can't be...I don't have a soulmate.” She leveled her gun on him one more time. Her frown heated, eyes darkening with anger.

 

“Do I need to say that you're wrong or are you just gonna accept that on your own?” Clint uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the bathroom door.

 

“You had to have heard _something,_ ” he said. “I wasn't always deaf and I do still listen to music. Classic rock, mostly.”

 

The target blinked, just once. Her eyes darted over him one more time. Then she lowered her gun, finger still on the trigger.

 

“ _Nothin' gets in my way_ ,” she sang softly.

 

“ _Not even locked doors_ ,” Clint added on.

 

“ _Don't follow the lines that been laid before_.” They finished the lines together. Clint's heart leapt into his throat as the woman looked away, blinking fast. It could be a trick, he knew that.

 

“I don't...this is too much to believe.” She leveled the gun on Clint one more time. “Don't...don't fucking move.”

 

Her hand vanished into her pocket again and reappeared with the music player in her fingers.

 

“Alright, 'soulmate',” she mumbled. “Guess this song.” She tapped the screen a few times, put the second earbud in her ear, and stared into Clint's eyes as she pressed play.

 

“It's not a song I know.”Clint held up one finger when she opened her mouth. “Give me a second, I can't sing along until I know some of the words.”

 

She glanced at the screen, lips pressed into a thin line. Clint closed his eyes, head nodding along to the rhythm in the back of his head.

 

“I roam the city in shopping cart. Pack of camels and a smoke alarm... really? These lyrics don't even make -” Clint cut off as the full force of the target's body slammed into him. Her arm was cross his throat, her gun against his head.

 

“ _ **How**_?” She demanded. His eyes snapped open and found her already staring at him. “How is this possible? There was nothing. _**Nothing**_. And then this...this weird burst of music _all the time_.”

 

“Calliope music, right?” Clint cut in before the fear in her eyes could boil into violence. “Like a merry go round?” The pressure across his throat eased.

 

“Yeah.” Her voice softened, though the gun didn't move. “Or -”

 

“Drum rolls and this crazy circus music?” Clint tried to smile but the gun barrel pressed tighter to his head cut off the expression. “I ran away to join the circus as a kid, me and my brother both did.”

 

“Nobody actually does that,” she scoffed.

 

“We did. Our dad was a mean bastard, so we ran. Of course, that was after this.” Clint raised his hand slowly to avoid scaring her. He tapped his hearing aid with two fingers. “My parents weren't much for music before that and we lived in the middle of nowhere, so it's not like I came across much at random. You, though. Ballet, right? Someone told me that Bernstein was big for ballet dancers.”

 

Her arm slipped from his throat as she finally holstered her gun. She didn't answer him but turned away instead, one hand over her mouth.

 

“Shouldn't that be in your file?” She didn't look at him when she finally spoke.

 

“Records on you are spotty. Some people claim you were born before WWII but you'd have to be on some serious super serum to still be -” Clint cut off as she looked at him. The faint tilt of her head was all the confirmation he needed.

 

“Holy shit.” His jaw dropped, pieces finally clicking. “You _were_ born before WWII.”

 

“Not long before, but yes.”

 

“So you're enhanced. Like... _enhanced enhanced._ ”

 

“Also yes.” She pulled the headphones from her ears and stuffed them into her pocket alongside her music player.

 

“What's your name? Your real name?”

That gave her pause. She stared at her boots for a minute, jaw tight as she worked the question over in her mind.

 

“Are you going to kill me?” She asked. Clint couldn't help but laugh.

 

“Hell no. Did you...did you miss the whole 'soulmate' thing?”

 

“I've seen worse than soulmates killing one another.” She still wouldn't look at him. Clint's laughter died in his throat.

 

“Well I'm not that guy.” He took a half-step toward her. She tensed but left her gun in its holster. “I was supposed to kill you. But I'm making another call.”

 

“So you're bringing me in?”

 

“I'd like to. SHIELD gets a fantastic asset that they'll invest in protecting. And I can get to know you.”

 

She had been nodding along but stopped at his final words.

 

“Even with your file, even knowing about the enhancements...you still want that?”

 

Clint wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled gently until she turned to face him. He'd never met the woman before, barely knew her face from the pictures in her file. But it still felt right to sink his hand her hair and tip her face up so she would meet his eyes.

 

“I've been humming classical music my whole life. Even when I couldn't hear much else, I could hear that. I wasn't talking to myself earlier. I was talking to you, the you in here.” He released her arm and tapped the side of his head. The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

 

“You talked to me?” She murmured.

 

“Yeah. I gotta say, you're crap at holding up your end of a conversation.”

 

That managed to pull a small laugh from her and Clint grinned. She shook her head, her hands balled into fists when she rested them on his chest.

 

“I didn't think...there was nothing for so long. Decades without the music in my head. When it started I thought...I thought I was going insane. And then it just...stopped. So when it started again I assumed it...I thought it wasn't real. Some trick or some mistake of the serum.”

 

“Nope. Just an ageless woman and a man with a wild childhood.”

 

She laughed again, her breathing sharp as she blinked fast. Her hands flattened on his chest, fingers tracing the texture of his suit almost hesitantly. He wanted to speak, wanted to hear her laugh again, but waited. She was quiet, his soulmate. He'd have to learn to work with that.

 

“Natasha,” she finally murmured. “My name is Natasha.”

 

“Hello Natasha.” Clint smiled, his voice soft. “I'm Clint. And I'm your soulmate.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	3. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr.
> 
> The prompt was "Clint/Laura".
> 
> I chose to pair them non-romantically.

Clint carried the last box up the stairs and dropped it on the foot of the bed. It was light, probably full of clothes or pillows. He checked the side and, sure enough, 'clothes' had been written across the cardboard in hasty black letters. Another word was beneath it, colored over from the last time the box had been used in a move. Most of the letters were completely obscured, but he could make out the loops of a 'B' at the beginning and the tail of a 'y'. His teeth clicked together as his jaw tensed.

 

“I couldn't afford new boxes. All our accounts were frozen.” Laura's voice came from the doorway.

 

“I could'a bought you new boxes.” Clint shook his head and looked at Laura over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again as the kids tore up the stairs and down the hall behind her. Their giggles echoed away up the staircase to the attic before she could yell at them for running in the house.

 

“He's not some evil wizard, Clint.” Laura shook her head, ponytail swishing across her shoulders. “We can say his name. It's not going to make him appear in the living room.”

 

“Best not to take any chances, if you ask me.”

 

“You're being dramatic.”

 

The two stared at one another until the thunder of tiny feet drew their attention back to the hall.

 

“No running on the stairs! I'm not dealing with a broken neck today!” Laura's voice drowned out the thunder of the kids. They giggled at one another before making their way – marginally more slowly – down the stairs and back to the living room.

 

“Laura -” Clint tried to speak but Laura was already turning away.

 

“Lunch is ready. The bread will get soggy if you wait too long.”

 

Her footsteps thumped down the stairs. Clint sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. Lucky trotted in, his tags clinking faintly.

 

“At least you're not mad at me.” Clint squatted down and held one hand out. Lucky bumped it with the top of his head, then stopped. He gave a small yip and took off back down the stairs, probably called by one of the kids.

 

“Yep,” Clint grumbled. “That's about right.” He gave the box one final glare and followed Lucky down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

“The kids are in bed, the rooms are usable enough for the first night, and I am exhausted.” Laura dropped onto the couch next to Clint. He offered her a beer and she shook her head, opting instead for the can of lemonade she had brought into the family room with her.

 

“This place is gonna be great.” Clint took a sip of beer and motioned out the large picture windows toward the barn. “You can get Lila a horse and Cooper some goats. It'll be great.”

 

“And end up taking care of them by myself? No thanks.” Laura laughed and shook her head.

 

“I'll help out!”

 

“When you're around. You've got missions, Mr. Barton.” Laura glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. “And a life, if that phone call was any indication.”

 

“What phone call?” Clint frowned at her, then hid it behind his beer.

 

“The one with 'Nat'. Where Lucky was in your lap trying to get to the phone.”

 

Lucky raised the head at the sound of his name but laid back down when no more attention seemed on its way. Clint shrugged, barely managing to keep the blush from his cheeks.

 

“She's my partner,” he mumbled.

 

“Yeah, I bet she is.” Laura laughed and shook her head. “My marriage fell apart, Clint. That doesn't mean I'm going to be a bitter old harpy about other people finding love.”

 

“Well, that's a relief.” Clint bumped his shoulder into Laura's. “You were already hard enough to deal with.”

 

“Your brother never complained.” Laura bumped back a little bit harder.

 

“Barney was never one for nice girls.” Clint managed a small smile before the memory of his brother obliterated it. “Then again, Barney didn't seem much one for nice _anything_.”

 

Clint couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. Laura tutted into her lemonade.

 

“You're telling me.” She glanced over her shoulder at the stairs and sat forward a little to make sure the kids weren't listening. “Neither of us could have seen this coming. I mean, Hydra? Really? Who joins Hydra?!”

 

“My brother, apparently.”

 

“He always had to do the opposite of whatever you did.”

 

“Blame our parents,” Clint muttered. “If I went left, dad wanted him to go right. If I was too soft, Dad told Barney to go hard. Everything was a competition for that asshole with Barney and I as fighter one and fighter two.”

 

“Barney mentioned a few times.”

 

The two slipped into silence as they watched the moon come up over the trees that bordered the property.

 

“Is he really locked up for good?” Laura's question came out as a whisper, her expression hidden in the darkened living room.

 

“Near as I can tell.” Clint nodded. “Everyone scattered when shit hit the fan. But as shitty as my brother could be, he really did love you.”

 

“I know that, I do. And the kids.”

 

“Definitely the kids.” Clint nodded. “If he didn't come back for you, he died in the whole SHIELD/Hydra fiasco.”

 

They fell into silence again. Laura finished her lemonade and stood, one hand out to take Clint's empty beer bottle. The kitchen light seemed too bright when she flicked it on and she opted for the smaller light over the sink instead. Clint watched her go, Lucky on her heels.

 

“Hey, I was thinkin' maybe I should leave Lucky here.”

 

“What?” Laura frowned as she came back into the living room, fresh drinks in hand. “You love this dog.”

 

“Yeah, but he seems to really like you.”

 

“That's just -” Laura cut off, eyes widening as she caught herself.

 

“Just what?” Clint arched a brow as he took the beer she offered him. Laura's cheeks flushed. She began to pace in front of the windows, her face cast into faint relief between the moonlight pouring through the window and the faint glow from the small kitchen light.

 

“I'm...I'm pregnant, Clint.”

 

Clint's ears started to ring and he shook his head.

 

“I'm sorry....what?”

 

“I'm pregnant.” Laura shrugged, then shook her head. “It must have happened right before everything fell apart. I've been feeling off the last few days and took a test this morning. I...I'm pregnant.” She nodded as she said it as if to confirm it for them both.

 

“That's...unexpected.” Clint set his beer down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands pressed palm-to-palm in front of this mouth.

 

“I know your friend said that SHIELD would help take care of me and the kids. But I don't know if this new kid -”

 

“It'll be covered.” Clint's words came out hard and Laura winced. Clint shook his head and leaned back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “I mean that you're my family. When SHIELD said they'd take care of my family, it didn't just mean the family you have right now. Get married again, have more kids. SHIELD has got you covered.”

 

Laura stopped pacing and stared at Clint, her arms crossed over her belly.

 

“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything. For this.” She motioned to the house and Clint shook his head.

 

“You're family, Laura. I told you that when you married Barney and I told you that when I came to get you guys. Barney's death doesn't change anything. It just means we gotta rely on each other now.”

 

Laura nodded and slowly settled on the couch next to him. They drank in silence, Clint nursing his beer and Laura tending a second can of lemonade.

 

“So we'll always be family, then?” Laura asked.

 

“Seems like it. I'm hard to get rid of. Like a fungus, or so my friends tell me.”

 

“I'll have to warn Nat when you bring her by for dinner.”

 

Clint glanced over, eyes wide. Laura only shrugged.

 

“If we're family, you're my brother. That means I gotta meet the women you date.” She laughed when he frowned. “Sorry bud, I don't make the rules. I just enforce them.”

 

“Except you definitely just made that rule?”

 

“Even if I did, it's my house and that means you have to abide by my rules. So you're bringing Nat in for dinner next month. No arguments.”

 

Clint shook his head as a grin slowly spread over his face.

 

“Yes, ma'am.”

 

They toasted one another, beer bottle thumping faintly on lemonade can, as the moon rose over the farm and the small family forming inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	4. The Way Things Were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr.
> 
> The prompt was "Roommates".

Clint didn't even have to look at his target. He looked one way, pointed his bow the other, and let the arrow fly. Feet stomped and voices roared. The rumble of it in his chest made it hard for him to breathe. People shot to their feet as his arrow found its mark and burst into a shower of colored sparks, mimicking the sudden book of fireworks high overhead. Popcorn flew as kids and adults both jumped in surprise, their attention going one way so that the light show overhead seemed to come out of nowhere. Mouths open in screams of delight, all eyes turned up to the sky as Clint swung off the trapeze to land among the clowns doubling as his safety crew. Well, almost all eyes.

One person wasn't looking up at the brilliant explosions. He didn't even flinch when a new round rocketed up to continue the show. If Clint hadn't known better, he'd have pegged the man as a plant for some sudden dramatic twist in the show. Dressed in black from head to toe, one eye hidden behind a leather patch, the guy looked like a plant. And he was staring right at the crew setting up for the big farewell. No, not the crew. Clint. He was looking right at Clint. No matter which way Clint went, the man's one eye followed.

“Hey,” Clint grabbed at the nearest clown, his fingers pulling the guy up short by one baggy sleeve. “Do you see that guy? The one in the trench coat?”

The clown looked over and nodded. He pulled his arm free and moved a half-step away so his hands could move freely in Clint's line of sight.

“He ain't one of ours, right? We're not pulling some scramble stunt?”

“Not that anyone's told me.” A frown tugged at Clint's lips as he signed his answer. He forced his expression back into a smile and patted the clown on the arm to send the guy on his way. If the crew didn't know about it, the guy was definitely not one of theirs. Which meant he was either a really weird customer – which would not be a first – or he was a mystery to be solved when Clint wasn't in full view of every paying customer they had.

Nobody wanted to see the pretty trapeze artist-slash-archer frowning at his horse. It usually caused people to make assumptions. And they were never good.

Clint mounted his horse and patted the gelding's neck. He felt the horse's neck shift a little as it nickered in response and his smile softened into something more genuine. They rode out of the center ring amid the last few booms from the fireworks. The rest of the cast rushed past them, heading for the center ring. Clint guided his horse to its handler and dismounted in a leap, running back the way they had come to take his place in the finale. Surrounded by his friends – his family – he quickly forgot about the strange customer as the opening music of the final number came on.

"Barton one and Barton two,  **get in here**.” The manager's voice boomed from his trailer. Barney frowned at Clint over their dinner plates before they rose in unison to clear their food and answer the man's call. They moved fast, aware that the rest of the troop's eyes were on them. Carl was not a patient man and he rarely called people to his trailer for anything good.

Carl was on his front porch when they reached his trailer, a bottle of Coke in one hand.

“There's someone here to see you two. You're supposed to clear visitors before they arrive, boys.” Carl glared first at Barney, then at Clint. Clint's eyes widened and his brow furrowed, confusion scrawled across his face until he looked over at Barney. His brother's jaw was set and his breathing had kicked up half a pace.

“It's that agency, isn't it? I thought they'd send a letter or somethin' first.” A grin lit Barney's face as he sprinted around the side of the porch and up the stairs, but Carl blocked his way.

“This ain't no talent scout, son. And if you two were plannin' on jumpin' ship, I should'a been told before tall, bald, and scary let himself into my office.”

“I have no idea what's going on.” Clint frowned up at Carl, then at Barney. “Barn?”

“This was all me, Carl,” Barney said quickly. “Clint's happy as a cat in a tuna factory here, but I ain't. Baldy in there is my ticket to bigger things.”

“You think the military is 'bigger things', Barton?”

“Military, mercenaries, I don't give a shit. It's better than playing sidekick to my baby brother in a small-time circus.”

Carl's jaw tensed as his anger sent a flush up the skin of his throat. Clint knew the look. So did Barney. Which is why Barney ducked around him and all but dove through the door of the trailer. Carl wheeled around and followed, muttering curses against both Barton boys under his breath. Clint jumped up and swung himself under the porch railing, then rolled to his feet. Barney and Carl were both standing in front of Carl's desk by the time Clint made it inside. He stopped stone-still when he saw the man behind the desk.

“You're a hell of a marksman, Mr. Barton.”

“Which one you talkin' to?” Barney huffed. The man jerked his chin between Barney and Carl to indicated Clint. Barney glared at his brother over his shoulder.

“We're both good,” Clint said quickly. The glare didn't fade from Barney's face even as he turned back to the stranger.

“Yeah, but you're better. False modesty is a waste of time, Barton. It's a habit I suggest you break.” The man arched his brows until Clint nodded a mute answer.

“And I understand you're deaf, is that right?”

“Mostly. I can hear bits and pieces here and there, depending on the pitch and stuff.” Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “My hearing aid helps with voices.”

“Doesn't seem to slow you down at all,” the stranger added. Clint didn't bother to hide his own glare.

“Why would it?” Clint's hands tensed in his pockets as he readied for the usual fight. The man stared at him for a minute, then nodded.

“Good answer.” The man gave Clint a small nod, then turned to Barney.

“You're good too. And you're the one who applied to the Rangers.”

“Yes, Sir.” The glare vanished from Barney's face as he snapped into something like attention. Clint flinched, the ghost of their father hovering over his shoulder before the feeling faded.

“You don't have any of the required military training or formal education. Why did you choose the Rangers?”

“Because I have skills, sir. I was raised by a military man, I know how the military works.

“You were raised in this circus, boy,” Carl scoffed. Clint tensed as Barney turned his head toward Carl, the rest of his body still as a cobra's before the strike. The stranger stood up behind the desk, his hands planted on the cheap laminate top. Both men snapped their gazes back to the stranger.

“Your father was in the Army. That helps, but it doesn't make him a military expert.” His tone had Barney's hands fisted at his side, but the man went on before Barney could put his anger into words. “You have skills, yes. And you seem like a bright guy. You could probably whip through the formal education and still make the Rangers before their age cutoff.”

A grin lit Barney's face and he opened his mouth to speak but the stranger cut him off.

“But the Rangers don't see it that way. They see it as someone who looked at the rules and decided he was too good to follow them. Do you feel that way about the rules, Barton?”

Clint almost answered, forgetting Barney for a minute, but the stranger's words pulled him up short. They? The stranger wasn't with the Rangers if he referred to them as a separate group. Clint's hands slowly curled into fists as he looked the stranger over again. Just who the hell was this guy?

“No, sir.” Barney frowned, some of the tension spooling out of his shoulders in his confusion. Clint glanced at his brother but Barney wasn't carrying any of the concern the had Clint's belly in knots.

“And what about you, baby brother? Are you good with the rules too?”

“Depends on the rules,” Clint shrugged, his voice carefully neutral. “Some rules are there to keep people safe. The rest are just there to keep someone's idea of order in place. That's the point where things get hazy.” The stranger looked him over before grunting once and dropping back into Carl's chair.

“You said 'they'.” Carl's voice cut into the silence building between the other three men.

“Excuse me?” The stranger frowned at Carl and the older man cleared his throat. He shifted from one foot to the other, shoulders pulled back as he tried to wrestle back some of the control he normally had.

“When you mentioned the rangers you said 'they' didn't see it that way. That means you're not with the Rangers, doesn't it?”

“Huh, I didn't think you'd be the one to pick up on that.” A faint smile warmed the stranger's face for the first time. He sat back down and Clint caught a glimpse of something black and matte grey under the leather of his long coat. A gun. The warning bells in the back of Clint's head bloomed into low alarms.

“I'm not with the Rangers, no.” The man steepled his fingers and shook his head. “I'm not with any branch of the military that you're familiar with. I do, however, work for the US government. And I am very interested in the Barton brothers.

“Clint didn't sign up for this.” Barney's hands were curling into fists again. “I sent in my name – and only my name – for a reason.” He jabbed one finger into the top of the desk.

“I'm well aware of that. And the reason. And the fact that you're tired of being second fiddle to your little brother.” The stranger nodded along with his own words. “Now ask me if I care.”

Nobody spoke. The stranger looked from one face to another until his eyes landed on Barney's.

“You're good, Barton. But your brother is better. My job is to bring in assets that my organization can use to protect lives across America and the world.” The stranger's voice was low, pitched down so that the other three men had to lean in just a little to hear him clearly. “If you stick to your 'one or done' position, I'll take baby brother here and leave you to Carl's mercies.”

“Who says I'd go?” Clint drew his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is my brother's deal. I'm good here.”

“You won't be for long.” The stranger held open one side of his coat and slowly drew out a slim manila folder. He flipped it open an began to read from the top sheet of a thin stack of papers. “You boys left home pretty young, not that I blame you. Your old man was a real piece of work.”

“Watch it,” Barney growled. The stranger didn't even look up. He flipped up the top sheet and even from across the desk, Clint knew what a rap sheet looked like.

“He knocked you around a few too many times and you took off. Eventually, you ended up here, but you two racked up quite a list of petty crimes before then. A few B-and-Es, grand theft auto, pick-pocketing, a few pool scams here and there. Not to mention all the shoplifting.”

The color drained from Clint's face as the stranger looked up at him.

“Now I could make all of this go away. It's part of what my people are very good at. But we don't do that for just anyone.”

“So you're blackmailing me into joining your super secret club, is that it?” Clint asked. “Can't imagine you people expect much loyalty if you have to bully people into listening.”

“Now who said anything about blackmail?” The man looked at Barney and Carl, brows arched in confusion. “Here I was making a generous offer and you accuse me of blackmailing you. You, baby brother, have trust issues.”

“Can't fathom as to why,” Clint growled. The stranger grinned and Clint's frown deepened.

“I like you, for what that's worth. Which is why I'm going to make you a deal.” The stranger tossed the folder down on the desk. “You come work for me and I'll clean out your record and your brother's. You two go through the academy, get set up for field work, and then we'll see how you feel. If you still don't like what we do, don't like being part of my organization, we'll let you go. You can run away to any circus you want. But if you don't go, neither does big brother.”

Barney glanced back at Clint, fire in his eyes.

“Don't fuck this up for me,” he hissed under his breath. Ice spun through Clint's blood as he shrugged helplessly at his brother.

“Barney, I don't know what's -”

“ **Don't. Fuck. This. Up. For. Me.** ” Barney's hiss took on a deep growl. Clint bit his lower lip and took a deep breath.

“What organization do you work for? At least tell me that much before I sign up for this shit.” Clint turned a glare on the stranger. The man stood with a grin and came around the front of the desk to shake first Barney's hand, then Clint's.

“I work for SHIELD. And you can call me Agent Fury. Welcome to the team, recruits Barton and Barton.”

Two days later Clint was in the middle of a mountain range somewhere east of the Pacific and west of the Atlantic. Which was to say, he was in the middle of a mountain range somewhere in the United States but he'd sprout wings before he could say exactly where he was. His arms were wrapped around a bundle of SHIELD-issue clothes, his duffel bag over one shoulder. The agent ahead of him was pointing out different features of the academy as they wound deeper into the building, but Clint was only half-listening. He had a map, he could figure out the rest later. Right now all he wanted to do was sleep.

“And here we are!” The woman turned a bright smile on him, gazing up almost shyly through her lashes. Clint gave her a crooked grin, making a note to track her down later.

“Your roommate is already here, so you two can work out the bed selection when you get inside.”

“But I thought...where's Barney?”

“Who?” The woman frowned faintly.

“My brother. He's here too and we...we've always bunked up, ya know?”

“Oh, right. Hang on, Agent Fury left... aha! Agent Fury left this for you, in case you asked about your brother. He just didn't give me a name.” The woman handed over an envelope from the clipboard in her hands, then smiled once more before heading back the way they had come.

Clint tore open the envelope, nearly dropping his new clothes in the process.

“Your brother wanted to fly on his own for a bit, baby brother. We bunked you up with someone who can show you the ropes. We'll check in with your brother in a couple of months, see if he's still pouting.” Fury had signed the bottom of the note and Clint frowned at the signature as if it held extra information.

Barney was mad, sure. But he'd never stayed mad for very long. It felt wrong to bunk with someone else, but Clint couldn't see any way around it. He read the note through one more time, then folded it up and stuffed it into the pile of clothes in his arms. The door to the room was cracked open and he nudged it open the rest of the way with his foot. A dark-haired guy his age was sitting on one bed, legs out and back against the wall as he read through a thick textbook.

“Hey.” Clint stepped into the room. The guy looked up and gave him a tight, lopsided smile.

“You must be my new roommate. Agent Fury said you'd show up today.” The guy set aside his book and stood up. He was well-muscled and easily two inches taller than Clint. He still managed not to loom as he held his hand out.

“I'm Clint Barton,” Clint shook the guy's hand, shrugging his duffel higher onto his shoulder.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Grant, Grant Ward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	5. Cue the Gin Blossoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Clint/Natasha".
> 
> (The title is a reference to the song "Hey Jealousy" by The Gin Blossoms

“Barton, progress report.” Coulson's voice crackled in Clint's ear.

 

“Romanov is in contact with the target. I'm currently in an air vent covering the room.”

 

“How closely has Romanov made contact?” Coulson's voice lost a little of the tension it had been carrying.

 

“Close enough that they're sharing food off their plates.”

 

Clint took a deep breath and held it for a ten-count. Coulson hummed into the coms, either ignoring or unaware of the agitation in Clint's voice.

 

“Good. She's on track for the mission outline.”

 

“Wait, this was part of an outline?” Clint frowned.

 

“It is. Agent Romanov has an intel extraction timeline and guidelines on how to get the intel we need.”

 

“I never saw a timeline.”

 

“Because you didn't need to. You're there to keep an eye on her and make sure her extraction goes according to plan.” Coulson's thin smile was clearly audible.

 

The coms line beeped as Coulson closed the channel and Clint let loose a few choice curses he'd learned as a kid from the circus' clowns.

 

Natasha laughed quietly – a sound Clint would know anywhere – and his attention snapped back to the dining room. His jaw clenched as Natasha reached across the table and lightly stroked her fingers down her companion's hand. A sick feeling settled in Clint's stomach as he realized exactly how far Natasha's mission outline went.

 

Twenty minutes later their target was paying the dinner bill. He had moved his chair around the small table to sit beside Natasha and was nuzzling her hair as the waiter scurried off with the bill. Natasha giggled as the man's lips made contact with her throat and Clint's fingers twitched before he shook the tension out of them.

 

 _Just a mission_ , he reminded himself. _It's just a mission. It's just a mission. It's just a mission_.

 

The hollow chirp of Natasha's giggle helped him push away the sick way his stomach dropped every time the target touched some new part of his partner. Natasha wasn't a giggler, not that this guy would know that.

 

But no amount of hollow giggling or empty smiles could stop Clint from hissing through his teeth when the target stood, offered Natasha his arm, and escorted her out of the dining room. Clint made it outside just as Natasha was sliding into the back of the man's chauffeured sedan, an uncomfortably familiar invitation on her face when she looked up at the target. The man slid in after her and Clint's fist clenched as the sedan's door slammed shut.

 

He would follow the car back to the man's hotel and he would watch Natasha's back while she got the intel. It was his job. It was his mission. And he would never leave Natasha without a guaranteed extraction. Even if watching her with the target made Clint rethink his position on murdering people who didn't absolutely deserve it.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later Clint and Natasha were out of the field. Coulson went away happy with fresh intel and Clint returned to New York City, his stomach still in knots. Natasha had tried to follow him but he put her off with some excuse that grew hazier the longer he was alone in his apartment. Some of her clothes were still mingled in with his, left over from the last time they'd come home after a mission. Her t-shirt was under his bed. One of her holsters was between the couch cushions. Even one of her favorite knives had been left behind, almost like a reminder or a placeholder. _Natasha Romanov was here_ was all but printed on the blade.

 

Clint threw it all in a box and stuffed it into the back of his closet. His fingers had lingered on her t-shirt, the smell of her perfume still clean and bright on the cotton. But her hollow giggle tittered through his head every time he breathed in. It went into the box, in the end. And Clint spent five minutes washing his hands before the last ghost of her perfume faded from his skin.

 

His phone went into the box, too. SHIELD could get ahold of him with or without it and Natasha was the only other person with that number. If Barney or Laura needed him, they'd call the landline. Clint even debated throwing that in the box to make sure he was left alone, but it felt a step too far. Jealousy didn't sit well with him and the longer he tried to cope with it, the more he felt like an angst-ridden fifteen-year-old. Which was probably why he ended up in a dive bar two neighborhoods over from his building.

 

“I'm a goddamn adult,” he grumbled. “So I'm gonna fuckin' drink like one.” The bartender shot him an odd look but handed over the bottle of beer all the same. Clint tipped the bottle toward him in a brief salute. Then he started to drink.

 

Clint lost count of his tab somewhere around his sixth beer. The world was a little hazy which would normally have been a problem. But the hazier his view got, the harder it was to remember what the target had looked like. Or the way Natasha had giggled. Or the outline they made against the curtains of the target's hotel room. And that's all Clint wanted. So long as he could still hit the center of the target with a dart, he figured he was good to keep drinking.

 

“You sure you're okay, buddy?” The bartender checked in with him somewhere around the eighth beer. “You're kind of a scrappy dude. And you're wobbling.”

 

“We bulls wobble, amiright?” Clint leaned heavily on the bar and chuckled under his breath.

 

“Right.” The bartender rolled his eyes. “I'm cuttin' you off, buddy. We've got your tab, come back and pay it when you sober up.”

 

“C'mon man, I've had a rough week.”

 

“You and half the folks in here. Which is why I'm doin' you this favor. If you keep drinkin' it's gonna get rougher.”

 

“How 'bout this?” Clint steadied himself with both hands on the bar and squinted up at the bartender. “Gimme three darts. If I can get 'em both in the bullseye, I get to keep drinkin'.”

 

The bartender looked at one of the guys by the dartboard. After a minute he sighed and handed Clint the darts.

 

“Don't kill anyone with those things,” the bartender grumbled as he crossed his arms.

 

“Jus' get my beer ready.” Clint winked at the guy before pushing off from the bar and wheeling around to the dartboard.

 

He squinted at the target and did his best to ignore the room's gentle side to side sway.

 

“C'mon man,” the bartender urged.

 

“Gimme a second!” Clint glared over his shoulder, then turned back to the board. He buried the first dart in the bullseye with a flick of his wrist. A small cheer went up from the few guys watching the spectacle and Clint took a small bow.

 

“One more to go, showboat.”

 

Clint shushed the bartender and squinted at the target again. The room's pitch and sway were getting worse and he closed his eyes to try and focus.

 

 _Fuck it_ , he thought. _I can't miss_. He took the shot with his eyes closed. The dart thudded into the target a second later and the bartender chuckled.

 

“I'd hate to play you when you're sober,” he said. “But no dice. Pick up your tab when you're sober.”

 

A small groan went up from the interested patrons as Clint opened his eyes. His first dart was embedded in the center of the bullseye. The second one was right next to it. On the other side of the dividing ring. He'd missed the bullseye.

 

“Son of a **bitch**.” Clint stared at the darts, then down at his hands. He had never missed his mark. Not once.

 

“It happens to the best of us, kid,” one of the other patrons called.

 

“Maybe,” Clint mumbled. He staggered back to the bar and grabbed his jacket. “But it ain't 'sposed to happen to me.”

 

The sky overhead was dark but the shop lights lit Clint's way as he stumbled back home. He had to squint to read the street signs, his vision swimming. But at least he couldn't remember much about the mission.

 

“Hey.” Someone stopped in front of Clint. The stranger had on a thin hoodie, his hands shoved in the fount pouch.

 

“Awww, no.” Clint groaned. “Look, man, I don't have my wallet on me. Can't you pick on someone else?”

 

“That's fine, that's fine.” The guy crowded closer, a second man appearing at his side when Clint blinked. “I'm really just diggin' your jacket.”

 

Clint rolled his eyes. The muggers exchanged glances, irritation settling over their faces when Clint shook his head.

 

“It's imitation, man. You're not gonna get anything for it.”

 

“Maybe I just wanna look good when I pick up some pussy later.” The first man was still running his mouth, his blue eyes bloodshot and his thin hair stringy around his face. Clint couldn't help but snicker.

 

“Yeah, dude. This jacket is totally gonna cover up _that_.” Clint waved his hand over the man's face, motioning from his unwashed hair to his food-stained shirt.

 

“Hey, fuck you, man! Gimme the jacket!” The guy crowded closer, his face flushing red. A third man appeared, just as washed out and angry as the other two.

 

“Three again one? Really? You boys call that a fair fight?” Clint squinted at each one in turn. They laughed. One of the cronies pushed him and sent him stumbling into the alley, the attackers close behind.

 

“Don't have to be fair,” the ringleader said with a shrug. “Just has to get me that jacket. Maybe those boots. You're a real sharp dresser for a drunk.”

 

“First of all -” Clint cut off as a fist made contact with his jaw. The world spun, tilted, then took on the rotten food smell of garbage as he landed in a sprawl against the side of a dumpster.

 

“Kick his ass!” Someone's order bounced off the bricks and Clint rolled into the dumpster, trying to minimize the target as he struggled for a minute of clarity.

 

But the blows never came. One minute three shadows loomed over him and the next a series of thuds and snaps tore the shadows away. Clint finally got himself up into a sitting position, a broken bottle in one hand, to find the three men sprawled against the wall opposite his dumpster. Bruises were already spreading across their pale skin.

 

“I can't believe you opted for this over a night in with me.” Natasha leaned against the wall next to the unconscious muggers.

 

Clint stared at her, then at the muggers, then back at her.

 

“How...”

 

“I followed you,” she answered before he finished the question. “You were acting weird the whole way back from the mission and haven't been answering my calls. We have enemies. I was worried.”

 

“You don't have to worry about me,” Clint grumbled. He threw the bottle against the wall a few feet down from his attackers. It bounced off the bricks and rolled away, leaving Clint to grumble over the lost drama of shattered glass.

 

“You're my partner, it's kinda my job.” Natasha shrugged. She watched him struggle to disentangle himself from the garbage bags but made no move to help.

 

“Oh, right. I forgot. It's all about the job,” Clint huffed under his break. Natasha stiffened against the wall.

 

“What does _that_ mean?”

 

Clint slumped back against the dumpster with a sigh.

 

“Defeated by garbage. Good job, Clint,” he grumbled. Natasha arched a brow and Clint sighed again. “Nothing, ignore me. I'm drunk.”

 

“You are drunk,” Natasha agreed. “And that's why I'm not ignoring this. You don't get drunk. Ever.”

 

“Well, I needed it,” Clint mumbled.

 

“Care to explain why?”

 

“Care to explain why nobody told me you had to fuck the target?”

 

Natasha flinched, her back flat to the bricks behind her. Clint grimaced, his words ringing in his head.

 

“I didn't mean... I don't blame you for the...the mission protocol,” he added. “Just...why? You didn't have to before. So why now?”

 

“That's what this is about?” Natasha murmured. “You're pissed off at me because I followed orders?”

 

“No! Damnit.” Clint moved to scrub one hand over his face, saw something smeared across his palm, and changed his mind. “I'm not mad at you, Nat. I'm...I'm jealous. Okay? I'm jealous and pissed at SHIELD and...and jealous.”

 

“You're...jealous. Not mad.”

 

“Yeah, you got it!” Clint flashed Natasha a thumbs up, then slumped down and closed his eyes. “This was just sex, ya know? Me and you? That's what we said. But I fucked up, Nat. I fucked up bad.”

 

“Fucked up how?” Natasha's shadow shifted as she crossed the alley. Clint opened his eyes to find her squatting in front of him, her hands between her knees. She frowned at him but there was no edge to it, no anger. Just worry. Worry and the soft _something_ that he only ever saw in her face when they were alone together.

 

He started to reach for her, remembered the smear on his palm, and dropped his hand again.

 

“I fell in love, Nat. Hard. I love you.”

 

Natasha stopped breathing, tension singing along every line of her body.

 

“You can't love me, Clint,” she said. Her voice was tight, all softness gone. “You don't know me. Not the real me.”

 

“I know enough,” Clint huffed. “I read your file, ya know. Coulson gave it to me when we became partners. I knew about your field record before I ever brought you in. But your file...you've been through hell, Nat. The Red Room, what they did, then defecting. The shit people at SHIELD give you. Now this? Ordering you to...”

 

Clint trailed off and swallowed hard.

 

“It's not what I brought you in for. Not what we're supposed to do. You shouldn't have had to do it.”

 

“But it happened, Clint. And it's probably going to happen again. And -”

 

“And I'll have your back. Because as much as it kills me to watch, I love you. I'm gonna keep you safe.”

 

Natasha didn't say anything. Clint felt himself slipping into a post-drink stupor and forced his eyes open. Natasha stared down at him, that soft look back on her face.

 

“You love me,” she whispered. Clint nodded.

 

“I love you.”

 

A small smile softened Natasha's features.

 

“Are you really confessing your love me while laying in garbage?”

 

Clint shrugged and managed a crooked grin.

 

“I had to leave my white horse with the circus and armor is a bitch to polish. I improvised.”

 

Natasha shook her head. Her soft laugh was almost lost in the sound of traffic from the street outside the alley but it reached Clint all the same. The knots loosened in his belly as her laugh – her real, honest laugh – finally chased away the damn giggle that had been haunting him.

 

“C'mon hot-guy,” she murmured. “Let's get you home.”

 

“It's _Hawkeye_ , thank you very much.”

 

“You can correct me when you don't smell like garbage and beer.”

 

Clint let Natasha pull him to his feet and smiled as she tucked herself under his arm. His head lolled as she guided him back to his building, up the stairs, and into his shower. The water sobered him up enough that he managed to get the smell of garbage out of his hair and locate a pair of sweats without stumbling over anything.

 

Clint groaned as he slid into bed beside Natasha. She was already in her pajamas, little more than briefs and a tank top. Clint happily slid his hands under her top, his fingers splayed across her back.

 

“No more dodging me, okay?” Natasha whispered. Clint half-felt her words, his ear pressed against her chest. He knew she felt his cheeks burn hot when he blushed.

 

“It was a dick thing to do. And I'm sorry.”

 

“You should be. I was worried.” A kiss to the top of his head softened her words. “Jealousy I can handle. Mission requirements _we_ can handle together, the next time something like that comes up. But you're my partner, Clint. And I care about you. So don't vanish on me again, okay?”

 

“Yes...ma'am...” Clint tried and failed to keep his eyes open as he answered her. Natasha smiled into the darkness as he slowly relaxed against her chest. She waited until his hands went limp against her back before she kissed the top of his head once more.

 

 

“And I love you too, Clint.” Natasha closed her eyes and nestled down into the mattress. “I love you too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	6. Overflow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Nightmares".

Clint's teeth ached. His hands clenched. His back tensed.

 

“How dare you?” He spat the words at his father but the man just smiled.

 

“Because you're weak, you little shit. Always have been.”

 

Clint couldn't remember what his father did. This time at least. The details were hazy but he knew the old man had done _something_. Something bad.

 

Pain blossomed along Clint's ribs. One minute he was on his feet and the next he was flat on his back. The world was dark, not a shred of light to be seen. Pain cascaded down his side again and his eyes snapped open. His father was gone. He'd never been there. Harold Barton had been dead for years. Another wave of pain washed over him and Clint rolled off the bed. He landed in a crouch, his hand already on the knife under his pillow before he picked out Natasha's shape in the darkness.

 

“Nat? Honey?” Clint kept his voice low, his tone hushed. Her eyes were open but Clint was sure she wasn't seeing him.

 

She answered him in staccato Russian before her jaw snapped shut and she brought her knee up again. Right into the place Clint's ribs had occupied a moment before.

 

“Russia is a long way from here, babe.” He eyed her hands and bit back a sigh. They were both under her pillow and he had no doubt that she was holding at least one knife. “So I'm gonna need you to put that knife down.” He moved around to the foot of the bed, his knife abandoned under the nightstand. His hand snaked under the blanket until he found her foot. One finger traced a quick line along the bottom of each before he rolled back. Natasha's kick snapped through the place his head had just been but the lack of contact and the strange touch seemed to shock her out of her nightmare.

 

“Clint?” She blinked down at him, both hands still under her pillow.

 

“Yes, ma'am.” Clint's faint country drawl was always thicker after a nightmare. After seeing his father. Iowans didn't drawl like Texans, but the twang was unmistakable. It finished the job of bringing Natasha out of her own nightmare.

 

She slid her hands from beneath her pillow, both of them empty.

 

“You too?” She asked. One finger circled next to her head and Clint nodded.

 

“Yeah. My dad. Again.” Clint's anger washed through him once more and Natasha waved him up onto the bed. He crawled up beside her until he could brush his lips along her brow. She returned the kiss before they rested, brow to brow.

 

“The Room,” Natasha murmured. “I was back -”

 

“No, you weren't.” Clint cut in. “You had a nightmare that you were back in the Room. You never left our bed, Nat. You're never going back.”

 

Natasha's breath hitched as she nodded mutely against him.

 

“You're never going back,” he repeated. Natasha nodded again, a faint tremor in her breathing. His unshakable Natasha. The deadly Black Widow. The Red Room was the only thing that could do this to her.

 

Clint pulled her into his arms and tucked her head beneath his chin.

 

“What about you?” She mumbled after a minute. “You never dream of your dad.”

 

“It was...weird,” Clint admitted. “I knew he'd done something wrong, something new I was mad at him for. But I couldn't remember what it was.”

 

Natasha snuggled closer and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

 

“He'll never lay a hand on you again,” she promised.

 

“Handy thing about him being dead.”

 

The faintest hint of a smile touched Natasha's lips as she looked up at him.

 

“Even if he weren't, he'd never get past me.”

 

It didn't matter that he was an Avenger. It didn't matter she was smaller than him. The certainty in her eyes did more to chase away the lingering anxiety of Clint's nightmare than the knowledge of his father's death ever could. He was safe with her. And she was safe with him.

 

The laid together in silence after that. Natasha's breathing was finally starting to deepen when the coms link to their room beeped.

 

“I know it's late,” Steve's voice filtered into the room. “And I know I'm probably waking a few people up. But Tony, Sam, and I just met up in the Commons. We all had nightmares and all woke up at the same time. Can anyone else confirm a pattern?”

 

Natasha's eyes snapped open. She and Clint looked at each other for a long moment before she answered.

 

“We're here, Cap,” she called. FRIDAY beeped as she linked them in. “Clint and I can both confirm nightmares. We woke up about five, maybe ten minutes ago.”

 

Steve sighed heavily in answer. It wasn't hard to picture him as he ran his hand through his hair.

 

“Anyone else?”

 

The rest of the team checked in one by one. Vision denied nightmares, but he did report a sense of dread. Rhodey's voice still shook faintly with whatever haunted his sleep. Bucky answered for both he and Xandria, his voice pitched to a low growl and Xandria's faint tears audible in the background.

 

“Doctor Banner is on lockdown, Captain.” Friday was the last to call in. “He says he has control but it's shaky.”

 

“That's a hell of a confirmation,” Steve muttered. “Anyone heard from Wanda? Piet's still out on a mission but she should have checked in.”

 

Silence filled the space after his words until he answered himself with a mumbled curse.

 

“Xandria, can you go check on Wanda?”

 

“She's barely keepin' it together, Stevie,” Bucky answered in Xandria's stead. “She's not goin' anywhere anytime soon.”

 

“I'll go.” Clint tightened his arms around Natasha and buried his nose in her hair. She nodded against him, silently encouraging him to go,

 

“You sure, Clint? If Wanda's still under, she's not likely to be stable.”

 

“She hasn't hurt me yet.” Clint tried to smile but the expression fell before it had fully formed.

 

“Just be careful,” Natasha whispered against his chest. It was low enough that FRIDAY might not have transmitted it to the rest of the team, but Clint didn't care either way.

 

“I will. And I'll be back as soon as I can.” Clint slid down enough to steal a kiss, then rolled out of bed. It took him a minute to find a clean shirt and his shoes, then he was out the door.

 

Wanda's rooms were on the other side of the Commons from the rooms Natasha and Clint shared. Clint nodded to Sam, Steve, and Tony as he passed through the kitchen. Not one of them looked like they'd had more than an hour of sleep before terror had jolted them awake. And it was terror. Clint knew that much first-hand.

 

“Wanda?” Clint called out as he knocked at her door. He waited one minute, then two before he decided that she was either in trouble or asleep.

 

“FRIDAY, open the door.”

 

“Miss Maximoff requested -”

 

“ **Open. The Door**.” Clint bit the words off, his worry getting the better of him. FRIDAY's only answer was a beep that, somehow, came across as indignant as the door lock disengaged. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

 

It was never a good idea to get on the wrong side of Tony's AI.

 

The dark apartment greeted Clint with silence. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, Wanda's rooms even darker than his own. She had ever curtain drawn, every shade down.

 

“Wanda?” Clint called for her again. He moved carefully, his shins already aching with the threat of worse to come if he collided with something in the unfamiliar room.

 

She still didn't answer him, not even when he knocked quietly at one of the closed doors that he assumed led to her bedroom. The room beyond was silent but something finally stirred in the room behind him. Clint turned and pushed open the door with the toe of his shoe. Wanda sat in the far corner of her room, cocooned in a blanket as she huddled in on herself.

 

“Aww, Wanda. No..” Clint shook his head and started toward the mound of blankets that was Wanda.

 

“I'm s-sorry.”

 

Wanda's words took a moment to sink in, but Clint heard the tremor in her voice clear enough.

 

“Sorry for what?” Clint crouched down in front of her, already reaching out to wipe away the tears that left tracks down her cheeks.

 

“Th-the nightmares,” Wanda mumbled. She drew back from his touch, head hanging. “They're my fault.”

 

“How... you mean … oh, Wanda.” Clint rocked back to sit beside her. He sighed as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hell … the rest of the team isn't going to like this.”

 

“I know!” Fresh tears ran down Wanda's cheeks. “I was having a nightmare and it was … it was awful. The worst I've had in a long time. I just wanted it to go away. I didn't mean to give it to everyone else!”

 

Her voice rose a little with every sentence until she was wailing, her shoulders shaking. Clint shushed her softly and wrapped his arms around her before she could pull away again.

 

“They'll understand,” he murmured as he pulled her against his side. “Banner loses control and smashes buildings that Tony has to buy and repair. Steve's demolished half of every gym he's been in since he thawed out. And you don't even want to know what Natasha is like when she loses control.”

 

“N-Natasha loses control?” Wanda sniffed, trying to hold back her tears. Clint nodded and flashed her a small smile.

 

“Oh yeah, big time. It's violent and expensive and occasionally bloody.” Clint squeezed Wanda a little tighter before he let the smile fall from his face. “But, I gotta ask … why now? You've never done this before.”

 

Wanda curled in on herself once more, but she didn't pull away from Clint's side. He counted it as progress.

 

“Piet's not here,” she mumbled. “And I've … I've been trying new things. With my abilities, with … with my telepathy. I want to help people. I'm tired of just being a weapon.”

 

“You're not just a weapon, Wanda.” Clint shifted back up into a crouch, his hands on Wanda's shoulders. She finally met his eyes and Clint read it all in her face. She didn't believe him. She wanted to, but she didn't.

 

“Other telepaths can help people. They work them through trauma and can find out the truth and all sorts of things.” Wanda's gaze dropped again. “All I can do is terrify people. And blow things up.”

 

“And make Natasha smile. That's gotta be a superpower of some sort,” Clint added. Wanda looked up at him, brows raised, and he went on. “You got Tony to eat vegetables. Willingly, I'll remind you. You're one of the few people that bother trying to keep up with Banner when he's excited and you're not as scared of Hulk as most people are. Piet _actually listens to you_. And you're the only one that can get through to Barnes and Wesson when they're off in their own little world.”

 

They both smiled at that for a moment but Wanda's smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. Panic bloomed in its place and she began to struggle against her blanket.

 

“Are they okay? Their nightmares are already so awful -”

 

“They're _fine_.” Clint snatched up Wanda's wrists the moment they appeared from the bundle of her blankets. “Xandria's freaked but they've got each other. They'll be okay. We're all going to be okay.” He held her gaze as he said it, shifting to keep his eyes on hers when she tried to look away. Wanda finally nodded and Clint released her wrists.

 

They looked at each other for a moment before Clint glanced at the clock on Wanda's bedside table.

 

“Do you think you can sleep again tonight?” He asked. Wanda shook her head, then shrugged.

 

“I can try,” she mumbled.

 

“That's probably a good idea. We're all gonna need our rest.” Clint held his hands out one more time. Wanda placed her hands in his and let him pull her to her feet.

 

Clint snatched up the blanket before she could, then motioned toward her bed.

 

“I'm tucking you in. My sister's kids say I do a great job. I'll even read you a story if you want.”

 

Wanda cracked a small smile and shook her head as she settled under her sheets.

 

“Suit yourself.” Clint shrugged. “I do voices and everything.”

 

Wanda's smile softened just a little and Clint winked before he threw the comforter out over the bed. It settled over Wanda and Clint spent a few minutes fussing with it until it lay straight.

 

“If you get this bad again, kid, call one of us.”

 

“I'm closer to 30 than 20, you know that right?” Wanda arched a brow and Clint shrugged.

 

“Your point? You're still a kid. And we're here if you need us, okay? I dunno about Thor and Banner and Rhodey, but I do now that pretty much anyone else would be in here with tea and pizza and whatever else it is that people use to calm down after a nightmare. All you have to do is call.”

 

Wanda nodded along for a moment, then stopped.

 

“Pizza?” She asked

 

“Hey, pizza is appropriate for all occasions.” Clint feigned offense until Wanda gave him a small laugh.

“Seriously, though. Call us, even if it … overflows, or whatever, again. We're a family.”

 

“I … will try.” Wanda gave him a tiny nod. It was the best he would get tonight and Clint knew it.

 

“Works for me.” Clint found her hand under the blanket and gave it one last squeeze. “You good on your own?”

 

“I will be, yeah.” Wanda gave him another nod, stronger this time.

 

“Call me. I mean it.” Clint rose from the edge of the bed and pointed a firm finger at Wanda. She held up both hands.

 

“I'll do my best.”

 

“That's all I ask, kid. Get some sleep.”

 

Clint made his way back through the apartment and out into the hall. FRIDAY beeped when the door locked behind him.

 

“Keep an eye on her, please FRIDAY?”

 

“You got it, Mr. Barton.”

 

The AI, at the very least, was back to normal.

 

The team was waiting when Clint made it back to the Commons. All of them except Banner.

 

“Was it Maximoff?” Tony asked. He had a mug between both hands. Clint glanced around and saw that most of the team had similar mugs, steam rising from its contents. Xandria came around the kitchen island and pressed a mug into Clint's hands with a shaky smile.

 

“It was her, wasn't it?” She murmured. Clint nodded and Xandria's smile fell.

 

“I should go -” She started to move past him, then stopped when Clint grabbed her arm. Bucky tensed on his seat across the room before a light wave of calm rippled out from Xandria.

 

“She's trying to get some sleep. Her nightmare spilled over onto us when she tried to make it stop.”

 

“All that fear in one person. No wonder it overflowed.” Sam shook his head, frowning into his mug.

 

“Are you sure she should be alone?” Xandria slipped her arm from Clint's grasp and he nodded.

 

“She was scared enough seeing me. I guess she thought we'd kick her off the team or something.”

 

“Never.” Natasha's voice cut in before anyone else's could. Pride flickered in Clint's chest as he met Natasha's eyes.

 

“She's one of us,” Steve added.

 

“We know that,” Clint said. “She didn't know that. Now she does. She's been working on new abilities, healing abilities or something.”

 

“She pushed herself too far and weakened her control.” Xandria nodded knowingly as she made her way back to Bucky. As the only other telepath on the team, she knew the pitfalls of the mutation.

 

“Think you can help her?” Bucky asked. He pulled Xandria down on his lap as she shrugged.

 

“Depends on if she wants my help. She didn't tell me she was working on new abilities, she might not want me involved in this either.”

 

“We'll find out in the morning.” Steve stood and began to gather mugs from peoples' hands. “We're all exhausted and a few of us are going to be dealing with repair crews in the morning.” He leveled a pointed look at Xandria who just shrugged.

 

“Banner's got it worse,” she countered.

 

“Still, we need our rest.”

 

The team filtered out of the commons in ones and twos. Natasha took Clint's mug before he'd had a chance to drink the tea inside, dumped them both, then led him back to their rooms. She tucked herself under his arm the second they were alone. Clint pulled her tight to his side and didn't let her go until they were back in bed.

 

“You told her it was going to be okay, right?” Natasha murmured in the dark. Clint nodded before he remembered that she couldn't see him.

 

“I did. And I told her to call us the next time it happens. That we're here to help, even if she thinks we'll be mad.”

 

“Good.” Natasha wiggled over until she was nestled back against Clint's chest. “The kid's been alone so long. She needs to know we're here for her.”

 

“She does, Nat. I made sure of it.”

 

Natasha was silent for a minute.

 

“You were really good tonight. With her and with everyone else.” Natasha's voice was soft, weighted down with impending sleep. “Definitely earned pizza for breakfast.”

 

Clint grinned and pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder. They would all be exhausted in the morning. But at least they would have pizza. And each other … but also pizza.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	7. Sneaking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets caught sneaking someone into the tower when he thinks Natasha is away, someone she thought he was done with. But, this time, it really isn't what it looks like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Secret Relationship".

Clint was halfway across the Commons, his companion's footsteps clicking faintly behind him, when the lights flared to life.

 

“You're home late.”

 

Clint heard the frown in Natasha's voice before his eyes adjusted to the sudden brilliance of the room.

 

“And you brought company.” Natasha's frown deepened as her eyes took in Clint and his blonde companion.

 

“I was going to tell you -”

 

“When?” Natasha snapped. “When I found the hair in our room? Or the charges on our card? Or when Tony found out and busted you in front of the entire team?”

 

“Tony wouldn't do -”

 

“Oh yes, I would.”

 

Natasha smirked as Clint whirled around to find Tony standing in the doorway the archer and his companion had just come through. Tony's frown mirrored Natasha, as did his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“This is a huge violation, Clint. You know guests aren't allowed. Especially guests that so clearly upset your...” Tony trailed off. Nobody on the team was quite sure if Clint and Natasha were dating, married, or just living together. It usually didn't matter.

 

“Partner,” Natasha offered flatly. Clint winced a little and turned back to her but she just shook her head, one brow arched.

 

“It's not that big a deal, guys!” Clint protested. His companion whined a little and pressed closer. “Yes, it's technically against the rules and I should have told you first, Nat. But I got rid of my apartment when we moved in together. What was I supposed to do?”

 

“Talk to me, maybe? I thought you two were over.” Natasha's frown lasted another minute before she sighed. One hand rubbed lightly at her brow as she shook her head.

 

“I couldn't do it. So I've been...I've been keeping it a secret.”

 

“You mean you've been lying to me.” Natasha's frown was back. “And then you try sneaking into _our home_ when you think I'm on a mission. Why didn't you just talk to me first?”

 

“You're not exactly his biggest fan, babe.” Clint reached down and sank his hand into his companion's blonde hair. Lucky looked up at him, tongue lolling in confusion.

 

“He smells, Clint. Like a dog.”

 

“Because he _is_ a dog, Nat!” Clint frowned.

 

“Which are forbidden on base, as I'd like to remind everyone.”

 

“You just don't like animals,” Clint grumbled.

 

“Correct. They shed, they make messes, they scratch things. Decidedly not a fan of them.” Tony pushed off from the wall and made his way to Natasha's side. He gave Clint and Lucky a wide berth.

 

“He's housebroken. If someone rigs up a collar to let him outside now and then without risking security – or him getting shot – there isn't a problem!”

 

“The fur, Clint.” Natasha sighed. “I don't want fur all over everything.”

 

“Tony's got a robot for everything. I'm sure he can make a robot to take care of that!” Clint glanced at Tony. Natasha looked up at him too and Tony shifted from one foot to the other as he frowned.

 

“I mean...yeah, but... no! No! You know what, no.” He nodded firmly. Clint waited and, within a minute, Tony's eyes seemed to lose focus as he thought. “I mean, I could. If I pulled about the QE7's pump and rigged up a DNA sensor modified to ignore living hair...” His finger tapped absently at his chin.

 

Clint grinned at Natasha and she rolled her eyes.

 

“So that's a yes?” She grumbled. Tony's shoulders twitched as her words pulled him from whatever vision he'd been putting together.

 

“It's... yeah.” Tony slumped a little. “It's a yes. I can make that happen.” Clint's grin lit up.

 

“I'm sure we can get regular grooming for him. You won't even notice a smell!”

 

Natasha eyes Clint for a minute longer before she shifted her gaze to Lucky.

 

“You're gonna drool on my holsters, aren't you?”

 

Lucky panted as he trotted over to nudge Natasha's knee. She resisted for a moment but Lucky didn't mind. He leaned his whole weight against her knees and sat down, head back so he could turn his smile up toward her.

 

“C'mon Nat,” Clint wheedled. “Look at those puppy eyes. Look at 'em!”

 

Natasha stared at Clint. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. And then Lucky put his paw on Natasha's knee.

 

“Damnit....” Her frown cracked and faded as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the dog. “Looks like you're our new roommate.”

 

“I'll go get the cleaner set up,” Tony sighed. He spared a small glare for Clint but it didn't hold any real weight.

 

“Welcome home, buddy.” Clint dropped to his knees beside Lucky, his fingers already in the dog's fur. Lucky smiled in the way only dogs can and closed his eyes, his head on Natasha's knee and his tail whipping back and forth across the floor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	8. Intruder Alert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Kate Bishop".

 

Clint's eyes snapped open as alarms blared to life throughout the base. Natasha shot up, the blankets falling from her as her hand reached for the gun on the bedside table. FRIDAY shouted about an intruder before every alarm, warning, and flashing red light went dead.

 

“Alright, people.” Tony's voice took over the coms system. “We've got an unknown somewhere in the domestic area of the base. Lang's in LA, Parker is on some field trip to Carolina, Loki is off-world, and Shuri is wrapped up in conferences this week. Which means our usual tricksters aren't at play here.”

 

“Wanda, Xandria?” Natasha spoke loud enough to hook into the coms system. She and Clint shared a glance when neither woman answered.

 

“Ladies, I know it's late but even you two can't sleep through FRIDAY's panic mode,” Tony prompted.

 

“Our rooms are lines, Tony,” Xandria grumbled. “The only mind I feel is Bucky's and I don't think I need to explain how he's feeling right now.”

 

Bucky's low growl carried over the coms, underscoring Xandria's words.

 

“Well get out of your little nests and see if you can pick up anything from the intruder's mind.”

 

“We're going out too, Tony.” Clint swung his legs over the side of the bed. His boots were just under the edge of the frame and he pulled them on without bothering to tie the laces.

 

“You're going to trip.” Natasha didn't even turn around as she pulled on her clothes and slid her boots out from under the bed.

 

“I'm not going to trip,” Clint muttered. He took a second to tuck the laces into his boots, just to be sure, then grabbed his bow.

 

A faint tingling sensation rolled across Clint's mind as he stepped into the hall. He and Natasha shared a glance and then a small nod. One of the telepaths on the team had “left their nest”, as Tony put it, and had swept the building.

 

“The intruder is female and young-ish. Early twenties, probably.” Wanda stifled a yawn as she reported in.

 

“She's looking for someone and she's irritated. I don't think she plans on killing anyone, though.” Xandria added her own information to the report. Another tingling wave rolled through Clint.

 

“Definitely not deadly, at least not right now,” Wanda confirmed.

 

“Thank you, ladies. Now could the stealth crew get around to, I dunno, _finding the intruder_?” Tony's voice echoed back off of something as he moved around.

 

“Already on it,” Natasha answered.

 

The pair rounded a corner and had to duck as Steve's shield clanged off the corner by their heads.

 

“Friendlies!” Clint called out. “We're friendlies.”

 

“Sorry, Barton,” Steve muttered. He appeared a moment later, his shield over his arm. Bucky and Xandria followed behind a moment later, Xandria's eyes closed and her hand in the crook of Bucky's free arm.

 

Natasha arched a brow as she looked from Xandria to Bucky but Bucky only shrugged.

 

“She's tracking.”

 

“Better than a bloodhound,” Clint muttered. It was Bucky's turn to arch a brow and Clint quickly shook his head.

 

“Not calling her a -”

 

“She's coming this way,” Xandria cut in. Her head cocked to one side and Clint felt her scan their surroundings once more. The team fell silent as a frown settled on Xandria's features and her eyes opened.

 

“What did you do?” She leveled her gaze at Clint.

 

“Me?” Clint's brows rose and Xandria's frown deepened. “I didn't do anything!”

 

“You must have.” Xandria shook her head and glanced up once more. “Because whoever she is, she's here for you.”

 

Natasha drew her pistol from the holster on her hip.

 

“That's not going to happen.”

 

“She's not here to kill,” Xandria reminded her. “She's furious, but not -”

 

Three soft pops interrupted whatever Xandria was going to say. Bucky recognized them first and pulled Xandria into a spin, his hand clamped around her upper arm until her face was buried in his chest.

 

“Smoke bomb!”

 

His warning rang out a breath before smoke filled the hallway from top to bottom. Clint narrowed his eyes as he tried to peer through the smoke. The haze was just too thick. He couldn't even make out Natasha's outline at his side, despite the pressure of her hand against his.

 

Pain shot down his spine as something hard cracked against the back of his head. Clint dropped to his knees and twisted the motion into a roll at the last second. Another crack rang out as his attacker's weapon slammed into the floor where Clint should have been. A soft growl undercut her failure and Clint spun toward the sound.

 

“Look, can't we talk this out?”

 

“No.” Natasha answered for the attacker but a silvery-red haze picked her hands out of the mist before she could fire a shot.

 

“She's not here to kill, Nat!” Xandria called out. She pulled Natasha's gun out of her hands with another burst of power before the red haze vanished and the gun clattered to the floor.

 

“Don't care. She's not getting to Clint.”

 

“Aww, and you said that you didn't think you mattered to them.” The intruder's voice came out of the mist and Clint's brow furrowed.

 

His attacker's outline flashed into view as the smoke began to clear but another set of pops quickly filled the hallway with an even thicker haze. Clint's mind spun, the woman's voice familiar enough that he knew this attack, this violence, felt wrong.

 

“He matters.” Natasha's voice was further away, near the panel on the wall that would let her link into FRIDAY's systems.

 

“Believe me, I know!”

 

The intruder shot out of the haze again and Clint grunted as she bowled him over. They rolled down the hall, the intruder's fists raining punches across his chest and shoulders. One connected with his cheek and he grunted. It was the last straw. He knew her, that much was obvious. But nobody hit him in the face.

 

“Look, lady.” Clint jammed the heel of his boot against the ground to stop the roll, his arms twisted around to pin the woman's hands against her own chest. “I get you're pissed. What I don't get is why.”

 

“Why? You don't know **why**?” Her voice was so familiar. It tugged at Clint's brain and he squinted against the thinning smoke to try and make out the woman's features. He made out dark hair and furious eyes, and that was all it took.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

“Oh, shit is right, asshole!” Kate twisted her wrist free and lashed out at him again. This time Clint let her connect with the side of his head. He rolled aside and let the force of her strike push him onto his back.

 

“I leave for _one mission_ and you clear out your apartment? You take Lucky? You _didn't tell me you were moving back here_?” Kate sprang to her feet, fists on her hips as she glared down at him through the smoke.

 

“In my defense, it wasn't entirely my idea.”

 

“You really wanna bring Black Widow into this?” Kate's eyes narrowed. “From what I hear, she doesn't like shouldering the blame for someone else's dumbassery.”

 

Clint cut his reply short as the vents overhead kicked on. The smoke cleared almost immediately to reveal Bucky, Xandria, and Steve against one wall and Natasha glaring at Clint from the terminal she had just finished with.

 

“You wanna explain your visitor here, Clint?” Steve nodded at Kate.

 

Clint groaned and slowly sat up.

 

“Cap, Nat, Bucky, Xan, this is Kate.”

 

“Kate Bishop.” Kate nodded at the group, then pointed to the quiver across her back. “AKA The Other Hawkeye.”

 

Understanding dawned across Natasha's face. She turned her glare from Kate to Clint.

 

“You didn't tell your trainee you were moving? She came back from an op to an empty apartment, a missing mentor and _no warning_?”

 

“Hey, like I said -” Clint cut off as Natasha pressed her lips together, her gaze cold.

 

“Hey, Clint?” Bucky cut in and Clint glanced up at him. “I'd stop talking. Like...right now.” Bucky eyed Natasha and took a half-step back, his arm around Xandria's shoulders pulling her along with him.

 

“Tony.” Steve was the first to engage the coms system. “The intruder is a friendly. Mostly. Turns out Clint had a trainee that he left dangling back in Brooklyn. She stopped by to have a word.”

 

“I'll call off the hounds,” Tony answered. “Unless our guest would like to use them?”

 

“I'm good, thanks.” Kate slowly crossed her arms over her chest.

 

Steve led Bucky and Xandria back the way they had come. Natasha stayed behind just long enough to give Clint a hard look that he knew meant an argument later. Then she was gone too and he was alone in the hall with Kate.

 

“I know you're pissed, but this was dumb,” Clint muttered. “Like 'almost got yourself dead' dumb.”

 

“Seriously?” Kate's brows rose as a hard laugh crackled out. “Of the two of us, who does dumber stuff? That would be you, hawk-guy.”

 

“Don't...” Clint cut off with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his free hand rubbing the cheek Kate had landed a blow on. “That's not what I meant. I just worry about you.”

 

“Yeah, I picked up on that from the vanishing act. Do you even know where Lucky is?”

 

“My apartment. The one here, I mean.” Clint pushed up to his feet and nearly went back down when his boot twisted on his foot, a lace caught under his other heel. Kate braced him and he threw her a grateful smile.

 

“See, kid. Still saving my ass.”

 

“I just don't want you dying in some freak accident. If you die right now, it's gonna be my call,” she grumbled. Clint knew her well enough to laugh. But only a small laugh.

 

Clint led Kate down a few more halls until they reached the commons that connected the team's apartments.

 

“You hungry?” He asked. Kate shook her head as she laid her bow on the table and slid into a chair. Clint grabbed a box of leftover pizza from the fridge anyway.

 

As predicted, Kate grabbed a slice as soon as the box hit the table.

 

“So, you're back huh?” She motioned around the Commons with her slice of pizza. “You traded up, that's for sure.”

 

Clint shrugged as he pulled out a slice for himself.

 

“I spent some time with Laura and her kids. She made me see that maybe I was doin' some good on the team. Then Natasha called and I just...I figured it was time to try it again.”

 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Clint sighed and set his pizza down.

 

“Look, kid, I'm sorry I didn't let you know. I didn't know how to reach you and I meant to reach out when you got back into town but things just kinda....went off track.”

 

“They tend to do that around you,” Kate muttered. Clint shrugged.

 

“What can I say? It's a gift.”

 

A few more moment passed and when they spoke again, it was Kate who broke the silence.

 

“They miss you, ya know. The people in the building.”

 

“I miss them too.” Clint frowned at his pizza.

 

“I, uh... I moved into your old place,” Kate went on. “You could come by sometime and see them? The kids especially... you know they always thought you were cool.”

 

“Nah, they just liked Lucky.”

 

“Can you blame them? He smells better.”

 

Clint grinned and threw his crust at Kate. She caught it was a small smile and threw it back.

 

“Does this mean you're out? I mean, like out of the neighborhood?” Kate's smile fell. Guilt skipped across Clint's mind.

 

“For now, yeah. I'll come back if something comes up, help when I can. But the Avengers... It's a thing, you know? I gotta do this.”

 

“Plus there's Natasha.”

 

“Plus there's Natasha,” Clint agreed with a small smile.

 

Kate finished her pizza with a soft sigh and stood up.

 

“Come by sometime, okay?” She waited until Clint nodded before she grabbed her bow. “And the next time you vanish without warning me, I'm gonna do worse than hit you with my bow.”

 

“I'd deserve it!” Clint carried the pizza back to the fridge.

 

Kate turned to leave.

 

“Oh, Kate?” Clint called. She turned back and he pointed down the hall toward an exit. “The next time you want to come by, call first? I don't want to explain to the folks back in Brooklyn that my team accidentally took you down.”

 

“As if they could,” Kate scoffed. She smiled for a moment until she realized Clint wasn't joking. “Alright, alright. Sheesh, these guys turned you into a hardass.”

 

“All the better to keep you alive, my dear.”

 

Kate rolled her eyes and this time Clint let her walk away. He waited until FRIDAY announced that “Miss Bishop” had left the building before he slowly made his way back to his own apartment. The closer he got to an angry Natasha, the more he missed the angry mobsters of Brooklyn.

 

“Move back, they said. It'll be fun, they said,” he mumbled. “But no matter where I go, I always end up with angry Russians.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


	9. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Set after Captain America: Winter Soldier, involves characters from Agents of SHIELD) Clint Barton and his brother Barney were on opposite sides of The Schism. Clint was loyal to SHIELD. Barney was Hydra through and through. Not that Clint knew until it was too late. Now Barney is a SHIELD-operated prison and wants to talk to Clint. About The Schism and about Barney’s family. Clint got Laura and her kids to safety but Barney wants them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot was inspired by the bingo hosted by ClintBartonBingo on Tumblr
> 
> The prompt was "Prison".

“I don't want to be here, Phil.”

“Yeah, I know.” Coulson shrugged. For once his usual, amiable smile was missing. “But he asked for you. It's the only thing he's said since his arrest.”

“Not his wife? Didn't ask about his kids?”

“We asked him about that.”

“Let me guess. No response?”

“None. His heart rate didn't even change.”

“So not only was my brother a member of Hydra but he's apparently become Hannibal Lecter too. Fantastic."

Clint grunted and Coulson fell silent. The heels of their shoes clacked on the floor as they wound their way deeper into the prison. Clint glanced into the cells they passed. Men and woman reclined on bunks or sat at built-in tables. Most cells had a few books, others had stacks of paper.

“The inmates sure keep busy,” Clint muttered.

“Rehabilitation takes work.” Coulson shrugged. His trademark smile settled into place. “And I'm all about second chances.” Clint couldn't help but crack a smile. Coulson had more than earned it.

“If anyone could get Hydra lackeys to change their stripes, it's you, Phil.” Clint stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I, uh... I just wouldn't hold out hope with Barney.”

“He's my pet project.” Coulson arched his brows and mirrored Clint, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants. “His brother is one of the finest SHIELD agents we've got. I sorta feel like I owe it to him.”

“Trust me, you don't,” Clint scowled. “He had every chance in the world to get himself right. Every reason not to side with the god damn Nazis.”

“Don't you want to know why?” Coulson stopped and Clint pulled up short to face him. The shorter man pulled his hand from his pocket and motioned the door he had stopped in front of. “He's your brother. Same tragic backstory, same SHIELD recruitment. Don't you want to know what went wrong?”

“Grant Ward is what went wrong.”

Coulson froze and regret flashed through Clint.

“Look, Phil, I know you were close to Ward. We all read the reports, I saw the photos of your plane -”

“It was more than a plane, Clint. You know that teams can become family. Base becomes home.”

“I know, I know -”

“Grant Ward hurt a lot of people.” Coulson cut Clint off with a nod. “Me and my team included. But he's not some Hydra magic bullet. He was your roommate and you didn't go down the rabbit hole. So why Barney?”

“Because my brother is an asshole, Coulson. Always has been, always will be.”

Coulson gave him a look that Clint knew far too well. One arched brow, head cocked to the side, gentle smile firmly in place. Coulson was too kind to call Clint on his bravado. But he wasn't too kind to write his disbelief across his face.

“Your thumbprint will open the door from this side. Just wave at the camera when you're ready to leave.”

“Will someone be listening in?”

“Of course.” Coulson shrugged, his hands back in his pockets. “But we're not here to judge or interfere unless things go off the rails.”

“Let's hope that doesn't happen. I'm just here to get some closure for Laura and the kids.”

Coulson nodded, then flicked his eyes to the door and gave Clint another smile before sauntering away. Clint watched him go, then faced the gunmetal grey door.

“Alright, asshole. You've got five minutes,” Clint muttered. Barney couldn't hear him yet, but it felt good to mutter the words out loud. If Barney was the man Clint remembered, he'd have probably tried to put Clint through a wall for calling him an asshole.

Clint pressed his thumb to the scanner. The machine beeped and the little light turned green. Clint had no choice but to pull the door open before the lock engaged again. He cracked the door open and waited, half-expecting Barney to throw himself at the open door and send them both sprawling into the hall. No impact came and Clint let out the breath he'd been holding.

Barney sat at a table, both the table and his chair bolted to the floor. Cuffs kept his hands held tight to the table as overhead cameras winked in all four corners of the room. Clint stepped in and closed the door behind him. Barney looked him over and Clint fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

“You look good. Longer hair looks good on you.” Barney's voice was a low rasp

“Prison buzz cut suits you.” Clint couldn't help but scowl. Barney stared at him a moment longer before he barked out a laugh.

“You must hate me.” Barney shook his head. He drummed on finger absently on the table. Anyone else would have taken it as a nervous tick. But Clint knew better. His brother was keeping time. Counting the seconds as they ticked by. No clock needed when you were Barney Barton.

“Hate would mean that I care. As far as I'm concerned, my brother's dead.”

“All because I picked the losing side?”

“No, Barney. It's because you picked the wrong side. The Nazis, man? Really? After all the shit we've seen, you went with the Nazis?”

“The Nazis were Hydra's past. Our future is going to be different.”

“There is no future for Hydra.” Clint didn't bother hiding his scowl. “It's over.”

“They said the same thing in 1945.” Barney sat back in his chair. Clint swallowed down the urge to smack Barney's smug smile off his face. Laura would want details on this visit and Clint didn't want to admit he hit her husband while the man had cuffs on.

“So your future is more than Nazis, but you refer back tot he Nazis to support your future. Right, because that makes complete sense.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it, little brother.” Barney's smirk vanished. “You know, Ward wanted to recruit you too. Said Hydra could use your skills.”

“And yet I managed to resist.” Sarcasm dripped from Clint's every word.

“Not even close. I talked him out of it. You've always been a damn boy scout. I knew you'd never bail on SHIELD's squeaky clean mission.”

Clint held his silence. Barney had always liked the sound of his own voice and the more he talked, the more he would reveal. Clint briefly wished that he'd thought to bring Wanda or Xandria. Either one of the telepaths would have been invaluable. But getting either one of them here would have turned this into a full mission. Barney would have locked up tight and then Clint would have nothing to bring the kids and Laura.

“I told him you were too weak,” Barney went on. His smirk returned, then slipped into a sneer.”

“Too weak to abandon SHIELD?” Clint prompted and Barney hummed an affirmative. “Not like you, though.”

“Hydra had the answers I needed. SHIELD didn't have a damn thing I wanted.”

“So you abandoned it.”

It wasn't a question but Barney nodded anyway.

“Without a second thought. You, Coulson, that prick with the eye patch. Left them all in the dust and I. Regret. Nothing.”

“Just like you abandoned Laura without looking back. Lila and Cooper too. Left them in the dust.”

Metal slammed on metal as Barney lurched to his feet and his chains caught on the iron loops set into the table. A snarl curled his lips as he strained against his restraints

“Where are they?” Barney's teeth gnashed around each word. “They weren't at the house. I know it was you, you little shit.”

Clint felt his blood run cold. So Hydra had come looking for Laura and the kids. And if Barney was still this worked up, it meant he still wanted them. The farm needed more security and soon.

“They're safe,” was all Clint would say.

“They were already safe, Clint. I had everything under control.”

“Clearly. Which is why you're now in cuffs, Hydra is in shambles, and your family wants nothing to do with you.”

“Must be nice,” Barney growled. “Having everything all figured out. And if Agent Barton says something, it must be true.”

“Meaning?”

Barney's snarl slid into a smirk.

“Is this the part where I give my villain's monologue?” He chuckled under his breath and slowly sank back into his seat. “Now why would I go a do a thing like that? It would ruin all the fun.”

“Fun?” Clint flinched as rage flooded through his chest. “Abandoning those kids, abandoning your wife. That's part of your fun?”

“That's on you!” Barney slammed his fists against the tabletop. “You stole them. Put it in Laura's head that I abandoned her. Convinced my kids -”

“That their dad is a Nazi? No, that's on you. Because that's what being Hydra means. At its core, that's what it stands for, Barney. Did you really think Laura would stay? That she'd be okay with that?”

“I'd have convinced her. And the kids, they'd have understood.” Barney set his jaw and glared up at his brother. There wasn't a shred of doubt on his face.

“You're insa... ya know what? Forget it. You're not insane. You know exactly what you're saying, what it all means. You're just...a monster.” Clint shook his head. He waved his hand at the camera above his head and turned back toward the door.

“I'm the monster? SHIELD invited Hydra in, made us all nice and cozy. SHIELD is helping those... those... Inhumans make themselves at home. Buddying up to mutants, the real monsters. But yeah, keep telling yourself I'm the monster. Laura will understand. She'll understand.”

“You're never going to see her again, Barney. Her or the kids. They're better off, they're happy.”

“They're alone. And I'm gonna fix that.”

Something in Barney's voice made Clint turn around. His brother's hands were folded on the tabletop as he grinned at Clint.

“Is that why you asked to see me? To warn me you're planning an escape?”

“I'm not planning anything. I'm a model prisoner.” Barney shook his head. “I just wanted to see you. To look in your eyes and confirm that you stole them. That you took my family away.”

“I saved your family, Barney. And if you somehow get near them, I'll do it again.”

“I'll get my family back, kid.”

Clint spun on his heel. The space between the brothers vanished until his hands were fisted in the chest of Barney's jumpsuit.

“They're not yours anymore, Barney. Laura's done with you. Your kids deserve better.”

“You gonna take my place?” Barney taunted.

“You're sick,” Clint hissed.

“Why else would you be so protective? Huh, Clint? Got a crush on my wife?”

“She's my sister, you freak. They're my sister's kids. My family. I saved them once and I'll do it again.” Clint gave Barney a shake, his jaw tight. “And if you go near them? If one of your buddies even gets close? I won't settle for an arrest.”

Clint shook Barney one more time, the man's chains clanging against the table. Barney arched a brow. Clint threw him back into his chair and turned back to the door.

“Maybe Ward was right,” Barney chuckled. “Maybe you could've been good for Hydra. Not so squeaky any more, are you kid? Must be that Soviet bitch.”

The cell door swung open. Hands closed on Clint's shoulders before he could turn, his own hands already balled into fists. His feet slid on the floor as someone dragged him from the room. Armed men streamed into the void he left.

“That's enough, Agent Barton.” Coulson stood across the hall. Clint jerked himself free of the hands that still gripped his jacket. He glared up at the agent and blinked to make sure he could trust his eyes.

“Mack?”

“Hey, man.” Mack gave Clint a tired smile. It was a ghost of his usual enthusiasm.

“Please tell me Bobbi isn't here.” Clint glanced around until Mack shook his head.

“You're safe. She's on a mission with Hunter.”

Clint sighed. The sound was half stress-release and half relief. Barney's words still had him on edge but if Bobbi was on a mission there was no chance of a run-in. The last thing Clint needed was to deal with his ex-wife.

“You can't rehabilitate that, Coulson.” Clint jerked his thumb at Barney's cell.

“I want to argue.” Coulson shook his head. “But, honestly? I think you might be right.”

“Some people can change. My brother is not one of those people.”

“At least now we know Hydra is planning something,” Mack added. Clint gave him a small nod as Coulson led the way back toward the exit.

“And that Laura's still on his radar.”

“Did you ever doubt that?” Mack arched a brow and Clint shook his head.

“I had my hopes. But Barney's always been possessive.”

“Is there a chance he'll find their location?” Coulson dropped back to walk between Mack and Clint. Clint shook his head even as he began a mental list of new security measures for the farm.

“Clint, are you sure -” Mack cut off as Clint tensed.

“I'm sure. He's not getting anywhere near that family.”

“And if he tries?” Coulson's brow furrowed. He and Mack shared a worried glance as they stopped near the final checkpoint. Clint looked from one man the other. They were old friends, all three of them. But things were different now. They were different.

“Anyone who tries will wind up in a body bag.” Clint gave each man a small nod, then turned away. Coulson and Mack watch him go, identical frowns on their faces.

“I thought he the second-chance guy,” Mack muttered.

“This was his brother's second chance,” Coulson replied. “And I think Barney failed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr at https://bigbandbombshell.tumblr.com/  
> Find me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/BigBandBombshll  
> Find me on Pinterest at https://www.pinterest.com/BigBandBombshell/  
> Find me on 8Tracks at https://8tracks.com/bigbandbombshell  
> Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/bigbandbombshell/


End file.
